


William Sherlock Scott Watson-Holmes

by MoonRiver



Series: Amelia [15]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anxiety, Children, Family, M/M, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson are Parents, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson's Wedding, Stepfather!Sherlock, Weddings, fathers and daughters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-07
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-06-06 23:32:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6774676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonRiver/pseuds/MoonRiver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a decade now they had all been tip-toeing around exactly what Sherlock’s role was in Watson family- what his title was. But now they would know, everyone would know. </p><p>Husband.<br/>Father.<br/>Dad. </p><p> </p><p>Sherlock experiences a bit of anxiety on his wedding day.</p><p>...okay, maybe more than just a bit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	William Sherlock Scott Watson-Holmes

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of my "Amelia" series, which is about how Sherlock steps in to help John raise his daughter after Mary dies after childbirth. While it's not completely necessary to read the series to enjoy this fic, if you like this fic I hope you'll go back and check out some of the other stories in the series!

Sherlock drew in a deep, shaky, breath as he tightened his tie and stared down himself in the mirror.

He looked horrible.

He looked like he had the bloody flu.

His face was white, his forehead was brimming with sweat and his neck felt soaked, and his breathing had been erratic ever since he had locked himself in the bathroom. With trembling hands he picked up his bottle of water and took a long swig of it, but it didn’t help his dry throat.

I’m a mess, Sherlock thought to himself. I can’t go out there like this.

Freaking out on his wedding day was something Sherlock had never pictured himself doing. Hell getting married was something he had never pictured himself doing. He had never in his life once had the yearning to be _married_.

Until John.

Until the last ten years.

Until he began to help raise a child and become a part of another family’s life- and they wanted him to officially be one of them.

A Watson.

Not that he was changing his name.

But Amelia was: Amelia Watson-Holmes. They were to sign the paperwork after the honeymoon. She was his _stepdaughter_ now, officially! 

Even John wanted to change his name to Watson-Holmes, though Sherlock had insisted he simply remain 'Dr John Watson'.

This was really going to be his life- the married life, the family life, the growing old and retiring together life. John had convinced him to do this, convinced him that he could be a father and a husband.

But what if he couldn’t do this? What if he let them down? What if someone like Moriarty came along again and put them in danger?  

All of a sudden he felt hot and breathless, and he truly feared he might pass out when there was a knock at the door.

“Sherlock?” Mycroft’s voice called. “Mummy is demanding to see you in your _darling_ tuxedo before the ceremony. I don’t know why, she just saw you in one last night at the bloody rehearsal.”

Without wasting a moment Sherlock threw open the door and pulled his brother into the bathroom. What he needed right now as to vent- preferably to someone who really had no personal feelings whatsoever about this wedding.

Mycroft was perfect.

“Good lord, you look horrible,” his brother announced.

“Thanks,” Sherlock muttered.

Running the water cool, he dipped his hands underneath and brought them up to rest against his face, desperate to collect himself.

“Pre-wedding jitters?” Mycroft asked in a teasing voice that warned him his brother wasn’t impressed by his freaking out over something as human and trivial as a wedding.

“It just all happened so fast,” he blurted out.

Mycroft rolled his eyes and pointed out:

“You’ve been engaged for ten months, brother dear.”

“The fastest ten months of my life,” he muttered.

With a sigh Mycroft stepped up behind him and placed his hands on his shoulders. As the two brothers looked at each other in the mirror Sherlock thought about how much they both changed over the last decade. Mycroft was actually a big part of his life now, and not just to spy on him and watch his drug habit (which he proudly hadn’t touched in ten years). He came over for dinners, he babysat Amelia- he even attended her recitals. Mycroft was one of the very first to RSVP to the wedding.

“Can you believe it?” Sherlock asked. “I’m getting married. _Me._ ”

“And here I had hoped that invitation had been from the other Sherlock Holmes in London,” Mycroft quipped. “It’s a wedding, Sherlock. Hundreds- _thousands_ \- of people around the world have them every day. It’s a _ceremony_.”

“It’s the rest of my life!”

Mycroft rolled his eyes dramatically, and Sherlock spun around to stare him down.

“Sherlock you’ve single-handedly chased down serial killers, have gone undercover in the most dangerous of situations, and dealt with ungodly…ungodly trauma.”

Sherlock’s eyes flashed to the ground; he knew Mycroft meant Serbia. The muscles in his back tensed as his mind threatened to push him back to that cell. He could still smell the damp mold, feel the bone-crushing cold-

“Sherlock,” his brother called softly. “You’re happy. You’re safe. All you’re doing by getting married is admitting that you want this life forever. You’re legally binding yourself to this family.”

He let out a long breath as he let his brother’s words ease his anxiety. Mycroft was right: all that was happening today was a ceremony.

_Two people who are currently living together are about to attend church, throw a party, go on a short holiday, and then carry on living together._

His own thoughts echoed in his head, and what an idiot did he feel like for saying that. His brother smirked, and he knew Mycroft was remembering that exact same conversation.

“People say their wedding day is the most important day of their life,” Sherlock said. “John said that, when he married Mary. But if that was the most important day of his life I wonder what that makes today.”

And there it was: what was really bothering him.

Mary.

As much as he tried to hide it- even from himself- there was one reason he had so much anxiety about marrying John, and she had been dead for ten years.

“Oh Sherlock,” Mycroft sighed. He reached up to straighten Sherlock’s tie. “You can’t possibly _still_ feel guilty!”

But he did. He did and that guilt made his stomach twist into sour knots.

“The only reason John ever met Mary was because of me,” Sherlock protested. “Because _I_ faked my death, I hurt him, and he needed someone. The only reason he stayed with her was because of my convincing. At their wedding I promised them they would make terrific parents, and now look at me: I’m marrying her husband and raising her child.”

“You’re taking an awful lot of credit, you know,” Mycroft commented. “Do you really think Mary would have rather John live the rest of his life as a single father and never have someone to take care of him?”

He hesitated because he knew the answer immediately: of course she wouldn’t have.

Hell, Mary _loved_ Sherlock. She probably would be thrilled he was helping to raise her child. But helping and taking over her family were two different things.

“John deserves this,” Mycroft said. “He deserves happiness, and you do too.”

It was one of the most sincere, kindest, things his brother had ever said to him. Deep down he wanted to believe Mycroft was right. Why was it he had always been predisposed to believe he didn’t deserve love? What made him different than the next person? Why shouldn’t he have a family, a daughter?

“You’ve always been fantastic with Amelia,” Mycroft went on. “You’ve always been a father-figure to her, and quite frankly she probably needs this closure.  She needs a good understanding of what her family is. She adores you, and she can’t wait to finally call you _dad_.”

Sherlock’s eyes lit up as they lifted up to meet Mycroft’s and he almost, _almost_ smiled.

Dad.

He hadn’t even thought about what Amelia would call him- he had assumed she would just continue to call him ‘Sherlock’.

“Do you think she’ll call me that?” He asked sounding, perhaps, a bit too hopeful.

His brother cracked a bemused smile.

“She talked to me about it,” Mycroft admitted. “She asked me if I thought it would be okay for her to call you that.”

“And what did you say?” Sherlock demanded.

Mycroft shrugged.

“I told her she should ask John,” he replied, “but I also said I thought you would be honoured.”

He nodded, and he was really starting to understand what Mycroft meant by closure. For a decade now they had all been tip-toeing around exactly what Sherlock’s role was in Watson family- what his title was. But now they would know, everyone would know:

Husband.

Father.

Dad.

“I would be honoured,” he whispered. “I just want her to know that I’ll never replace her mum…and I want John to know I’ll never replace Mary. That’s not what I’m trying to do.”

A flash of sincerity sparked in his brother’s eyes as he gazed at him with pride- with a surprising amount of admiration.

“Why don’t you tell John that, then?” Mycroft suggested.

Sherlock glared in the mirror, knowing how John felt about wedding traditions.

“Isn’t it bad luck to see the bride before the wedding?” He snickered.

Mycroft smirked:

“Are you the bride in this scenario or is John?”

Ignoring him, Sherlock drew in a deep breath, rubbed his hands over his face, and finally threw open the restroom door. Fuck ceremonies, fuck traditions: this was his family at stake. He had been too afraid to bring this up before the wedding, but there was no way he could get married without having this conversation. He stormed down the hall and into the lobby, where John was greeting their guests. His eyes lit up in surprise- and relief- upon seeing him.

“Sherlock!” John called, waving him over. When Sherlock reached him his fiancé didn’t hesitate to kiss him on the cheek, and he was grateful he wasn’t barked at about silly traditions. “Thank god, you can help me greet people. I must have shaken fifty hands so far. What were we thinking inviting this many people?”

Sherlock tried to fake a laugh, but he didn’t have the heart. Instead he grabbed John’s hands and pleaded:

“I need to talk to you.”

The smile on John’s face quickly wiped away, and Sherlock could only imagine the horrific thoughts going through his mind.

“It’s not like that,” Sherlock promised. “There’s just a conversation I want to have, before we do this. I don’t think it would be fair to marry you until we did.”

There was a lapse in the crowd streaming into the church, for wish Sherlock was grateful because the last thing he wanted was their families gossiping about how he was getting ‘cold feet’.

“Okay,” John finally nodded. “I need some air anyway; let’s take a walk.”

Reaching out, he asked for Sherlock’s hand, and he accepted. John was right: stepping out into fresh air seemed to help him breathe better, and he took a few gasps of breaths as he they walked around the back of the church.

“Molly’s kid is adorable,” John commented, obviously trying to break the ice. “The first thing he did when I saw him was tell me he could name all the bones in the hand- and he did! He’s going to be brilliant.”

A smile crossed John’s face, but Sherlock wasn’t even paying attention. They ended up leaning against the back of the church; he felt incredibly out of place. Not only was he honestly not the least bit religious, but he had honestly not stepped foot in a church since John’s wedding. He almost felt like a guest at his own wedding.

After a long moment of staring at him, John finally asked:

“What’s on your mind?”

The doctor reached up and ran his hand through Sherlock’s curls, and with that single touch he finally relaxed. He finally felt like himself.

“How can you be so calm about this?” Sherlock demanded.

He was surprised when his fiancé simply let out a laugh and shook his head.

“We’ve been together for ten years, Sherlock,” he pointed out. “We’re practically already married. This just makes things official, and it’s something to celebrate. We should be proud of how far we’ve come.”

A smile lingered on John’s face as he grasped Sherlock’s shoulders, and he knew his fiancé was right about that point. Between Sherlock’s drug problem and social issues and John’s PTSD and depression, they both really had morphed into much stronger men. They were confident, they were optimistic, and they loved their lives.

All the same, Sherlock couldn’t help but to let his mind linger in the past.

“I am proud- of both of us,” Sherlock agreed. “I just…I just want you to know…I’m not trying to replace Mary.”

John blinked, his smile turning into lopsided confusion.

“What?” He finally asked after staring at him for a long moment.

Eyes flashing to the ground and shoulders slumping with embarrassment, Sherlock explained quietly:

“I just can’t help but to feel guilty. I was your best man, John. That was the last thing Mary knew me as: your best man, your best friend. Now I’m raising her daughter and marrying her husband. I feel a bit guilty about it. It feels wrong, in a way. I know we can’t ask her permission, of course, but none of this would be happening if she hadn’t passed away.”

His stomach knotted up so tightly he bent over, resting his elbows on his knees, trying to prevent himself from feeling so sick to his stomach. He could feel John’s eyes on him, hurt and judgmental. But it was something that had to be said. He had to know that John was thinking about this too, that he truly felt it was _okay_ to be doing this.

“Sherlock,” John began softly, a hint of empathy in his voice. “We could have never predicted how those events happened, but Mary loved you. I don’t think there would be anyone else she would want to help raise Amelia. And I’d like to think she’d want me to be happy, and she would want Amelia to be happy. Yeah, we can never know for sure how she’d feel, but life happened how it happened and we can’t change that. I do know that she would think we were both utter gits for not getting married just because we’re afraid of how she _might_ feel about this. Mary’s gone, and I miss her every day, but nothing is going to bring her back. I’ve come to terms with that, and I’m ready to move on. I don’t want you to replace her- no one could ever replace her- and I don’t want to erase those memories. I just want to be happy. I want you, and I want us to be happy.”

 _Happy._ It was a word that hadn’t been in his vocabulary for a majority of his life. Happiness was an emotion, and emotions were just part of his _transport_. Sherlock had never truly appreciated happiness or understood how important it was to be happy until his relationship with John began, and it was upon hearing John say that that he knew he couldn’t throw this away.

“I want us to be happy too,” he announced. “I just wanted to make sure everything was good between us.”

Nodding, John replied:

“We’re good. I mean, a part of me will always love Mary. Nothing will ever take that away. But you’re mine, Sherlock.”

John surprised him by leaning forward and capturing him with a soft, tender, kiss. Sherlock raised his hand to his soon to be husband’s cheek and stare into his eyes as they broke apart. His breath hitched as he saw the sincerity in John’s eyes, the desperate _need_ for him.

“You ready to do this?” John breathed.

Sherlock nodded stiffly. Wordless, John reached out with a hand and took Sherlock’s sweaty palm in his own. Together they stood and walked around to the front of the church, where the crowd had fizzled out. Everyone was inside waiting for them.

“Ready when you are, brother dear,” Mycroft announced at the door.

Ten year-old Amelia stood beside her uncle, holding his hand and beaming.

“Let’s get married!” Amelia exclaimed.

As he let out a laugh Sherlock felt a bit more at ease. Amelia looked adorable in her yellow dress and her hair curled for the special occasion. She looked every bit the spitting image of her mother- fair skinned, blonde hair, cunning, all-knowing eyes.

“Are you sure you're ready, Miss Amelia?” Sherlock asked, holding out his hands.

She slipped away from Mycroft to take her stepfather’s hands. Looking him in the eye, she swallowed nervously before bravely asking what Sherlock had been secretly hoping to hear:

“Would it be okay if I call you Dad now?”

He thought he would be prepared for it, but lo and behold there were tears in his eyes as he knelt down to her height.

“Of course that would be okay,” he replied as he pulled her into a tight hug. “I would be honoured. I love you, Amelia.”

“I love you too _Dad_.”

She was grinning ear to ear as they broke apart, as though she knew being called that for the first time would break him emotionally. Without another word she turned to skip inside the church and take her place. Mycroft offered him a proud smile before following her, leaving the two men alone one last time before becoming husbands.

As he turned to his partner, Sherlock realised that he was crying, openly shedding tears and swiping at his eyes.

“The _dad_ thing doesn’t bother you, does it?” Sherlock asked. After all, John was Amelia’s true blood father, and he now found himself worried he would feel jealous if Sherlock began to share that title.

“No it doesn’t bloody bother me!” John said, shaking his head incredulously even as he wiped at his eyes. “Would you stop worrying so much about what I think? I love you, William Sherlock Scott Holmes.”

Sherlock’s nose turned up. It was so infrequent that he heard his full name said like that that he hadn’t considered how it would sound if he did _add_ Watson to it.

“William Sherlock Scott Watson-Holmes,” Sherlock announced, trying to test how it sounded off his tongue.

To be honest, he quite liked it. He was proud to be a Holmes, and he had never before considered ever changing his name, but he truly was a Watson now. He should show it off.

“Too many names,” John protested, shaking his head before he could say anything else.

“Everyone but me can’t be a 'Watson-Holmes',” he pointed out. "If you really do change your name, and since Amelia will too, then I want to as well."

Grabbing his hands, John stepped closer so their foreheads could rest against each others'.

“Maybe we can _officially_ change your name,” John said, “but come on, you’ll always be Sherlock Holmes.”

With a small shrug, Sherlock confessed:

“And yet I feel like an entirely different person now…in the best of ways.”

A smile crossed his partner’s face before they shared one more kiss. He finally felt like weight being lifted from his shoulders. He wasn’t alone in this. He had his family’s support, and it felt _good_ to know so many people had that much faith in him. He was ready for this- he and John were ready for this.

“Alright then,” John said as he drew in a deep breath. “Let’s go get married.”

The doctor’s tears were gone, leaving his face streaked and pale, but nevertheless the two men beamed as they took hands and ascended the steps into the church.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I've always been nervous to write a Sherlock/John wedding story because I was worried about their characterization, but I felt like this would be a great way to do it. Considering how freaked out Sherlock was upon being asked to be Best Man, you could only image how he'd act on his own wedding day! I'd love to know what all of you thought!


End file.
